Why contentment is like Yoga (& I hate Yoga)

I'm a dreamer at heart, which means I'm always thinking about what could be. There is so much temptation to want what I do not have. To be farther along on the journey. To experience more, do more, be more.

And while none of those things are bad in and of themselves, I don't want to be ruled by my own desires. I don't even want to be ruled by my dreams.

More than anything, I want to learn the discipline of enjoying exactly where I am.

* * *

I hate yoga. 

It requires too much focus. Try striking Warrior 2 pose when you've been holding it for what feels like 10 minutes and your knees are shaking (heck, your whole body is shaking) and your arms feel like bricks and any moment you're sure you're going to collapse in a heap of defeat on your yoga mat, never.to.rise.again. 

And the secret - the very hard and difficult secret - is that if you relax into the stretch, dare I say rest in the stretch ... if you take your mind off how long you've been holding it and when the instructor is going to move onto something else ... if you take your mind off yourself altogether ... it's possible ... quite possible I should say ... to embrace and even enjoy that very difficult and challenging moment and to ultimately conquer Warrior 2. 

Like a boss.

The same is true in life. I should know. At times, I find myself in some very tough stretches. Where my courage is jelly and I just want to rush through to the next moment. I would just as well fast forward through all the difficult, boring and unexciting parts to get to the triumphant, victorious and glorious ending.

But when I rush through life, I willingly forfeit all the divinely orchestrated lessons it intends to teach me. I miss out on developing strength, patience & grace. I never learn what it means to take my focus off of me and concentrate on something far more worthy and divine.

And maybe it's just me, but the call to contentment is like beasting a 24-hour Warrior 2 pose every day. Priscilla Shrirer puts it this way in "A Resolution for Women," my latest treasure from Audible:

"[This year was] my only chance to fully be the person I'd be at this age and in this season. Only for the coming year, would my husband be exactly like this. Only for these fleeting moments, would my children, talk, look and act exactly like this. And if I chose to hurry through them in an attempt to avoid the parts I didn't like, I'd simultaneously miss all the things I did like about this season. 

I recognized that by rushing through life I'd been subtly devaluing those around me and the experiences I was involved in. Not appreciating the importance and significance they bring to my life at this very moment. Not grasping or holding dear and treating well, these gifts God has entrusted to me. Rarely allowing myself the privilege of fully participating and embracing the happenings that were right before me that day."

Story of my life. My middle name is rush. And my last name too. 

I've been rushing so much this year already. Rushing through the very hard and difficult moments of having a near two-year old. Rushing through the journey of figuring out what to do next. Rushing through friendships, relationships. Wanting life to just hurry up and get to the part where I finally make it big, reach the tippy tippy top and live happily ever after. 

While contentment whispers quietly from the corner, "Dear friend, this is your happily ever after."

* * *

"Possibly this clarion call to live satisfied with what God has already given feels almost like admitted defeat. A resignation to the status quo. A life of mediocrity. Maybe it feels as if choosing contentment is a simultaneous choice to quell your desires and silence your future aspirations. To quit ever hoping for more. 

On the contrary, contentment is the equilibrium between the enjoyment of life now and the anticipation of what is to come. Contentment serves as a guard against 'desires gone wild.' It is the key to unlocking you from the bondage of unrestrained longing that wells up within your heart and inevitably tries to control your life, making you a slave to what you don't have, instead of a fully-engaged participant with what you do."

Priscilla Shirer, "A Resolution for Women"

He Came

In recent weeks, I've been reading several Advent devotionals to prepare my heart to embrace the gravity of this day. One reading in particular reminded me that the word "Advent" means "coming," a fact I'd never known, or either forgotten long ago.

Jesus came. 

And even though I still struggle to truly grasp all that happened in that little manger in Bethlehem thousands of years ago, that thought - that truth - jumps out from nowhere and shakes me like a friend begging me to come to my senses.

Jesus came.

Do you see it? He didn't observe everything happening in our fallen world like the outsider He truly is. He saw us lost without any hope. And instead of leaving us to believe the lie that we were truly living without Him, instead of relishing in our rightful punishment, He pulled up the train of His holy robe, which the Bible says fills the temple, got off the throne of heaven, came down to our tiny planet, and became like us.

He dirtied holy hands to save us, and it would cost Him his life. 

He came anyway.

That means more to me now than it ever has. I can't ever remember being in a situation I couldn't get myself out with hard work and effort. But that's the thing about depression. It doesn't care about your drive or your discipline. You work harder at being happy, at being truly OK, but it just laughs in your face. You feel powerless to pull away ... to make yourself better ... because you truly are.

And that's the trouble with your struggle too if you're honest. We'd all like to believe we can fix ourselves ... fix our lives ... and some of us live our whole lives trying, only to realize at the end that all our trying sums up to nothing.

Try fixing losing a loved one. Try fixing the betrayal of a friend, a sibling or a parent. Try fixing the brokenness of a failed marriage. Or a miscarried baby. Try fixing discontent. Or resentment. Or jealously.

You've tried. I've tried. We're all playing Olivia Pope, friends. But at our core, we suck at fixing. We can do a pretty good patch job, but we can't cure our hearts. At the root of it all, we're terribly hopeless in need of a hero. 

So Jesus came.

As a superhero in a cape? As the King of Kings He truly is? As a mighty warrior? As the commander in chief of angel armies?

No. As a tiny, defenseless, helpless baby. Just like one of us. A sinless, perfect and pure hero, came to offer himself - not for the damsel in distress, not for the innocent child facing imminent harm, not for the pure at heart, or the noble, or the brave. No, we are none of those things. 

He came to die for crooks. Liars and cheaters and fornicators and gamblers and foul-mouthed thieves. 

The hero came to die for us, the villains. And even as He offered his precious life, we spewed hate at him, reviled Him, tormented Him.

And somehow ... somehow this is God's perfect plan. To rescue the undeserving. To show mercy to the helpless. To truly fix us.

He came.

And even if you can't get excited that He came. Even if the fog in your life is so thick you can't see it all clearly this Christmas. There is hope for you. 

He is coming. Again.

And this time, we won't have to read it in a book or try to visualize it in our finite, limited minds. This time, we will see it with our own eyes.

Are you ready for the day He comes to take those He loves to be with Him forever?

That, dear friends, will be the merriest Christmas of all.